Yesterday I went on an exciting trip to the Wirral region of Merseyside, to visit my good friend Anna, who is expecting a set of twins. She has moved back to her Mum's house and I was interested to examine these new environs.
After taking an exciting 'First' tunnel bus, I was met by Anna at the bus stop in Wallasey. I took a fast walk down the alleyway to her Mum's, but when I turned around, Anna was way behind, due to the fact the twins had reduced her lung capacity to a third its usual size.
I was very impressed with Anna's Ma's house upon arrival. It was decorated in my favourite colours of red and pink, with sumptuous furnishings and artistic cosmetic flourishes in the bathroom.
Anna had sourced some excellent cold beverages from the ASDA 'Extra Special' range. I indulged in a glass of dandelion and burdock and when we entered the living room, I was offered an occasional table to rest it on.
We watched the first episode of a fantastic 'teen angst' style series called 'My So- Called Life'. Anna had sourced it from some sort of pirate production premises, so it intermittently turned itself off during the viewing process. Despite this, it contained all the necessary ingredients to ensure a truly engaging and fulfilling teen drama, whcih are:
Moody teen protagonist
Moody teen protagonist who goes through image crisis and dyes hair an attractive but unacceptable to parents shade.
MTP who has bad relationship with mother.
MTP who is weird and quirky and says things like 'Anne Frank was lucky'
MTP who falls in with the wrong crowd
MTP who lusts after some guy but doesn't seem like she is ever going to get together with him.
MTP who tries hard to be cool but then falls over in mud.
It was truly fantastic. It 'spoke' to us on many levels and took us back to the times when we were both moody teen protagonists.To accompany our viewing, Anna had prepared a delicious lunch of baked potato with carrot cake for afters. Both were again sourced from the ASDA shopping emporium.
Once we had finished with lunch and televisual viewing we played a game of prodding Anna's stomach to see if we could identify bits of the twins. I had a really good poke around and I thought I could feel an arm or a leg. It was terrifically exciting.Then we discussed the birthing process and how we believed it may pan out. We shared the details of various 'horror stories' we had heard, although Anna declined my advice to look on YouTube to check out the realities, as captured by well meaning husbands and fathers.
Note: No matter how curious you are, if you are pregnant it is probably best not to do this. I checked this out in an unpregnant and unwanting to be pregnant state, yet was interested in a purely anthropological way and it raised serious issues about the design faults of the female body and the failure of the evolutionary process to correct them.
At 4.30pm I left to begin the journey back to Liverpool, where I needed to meet Alan for our usual Friday night carvery ritual.
Monday, 21 July 2008
Laura and the diary from 1997
Readers, I have found yet more hilarous stuff from the past. A section of a notebook that had been ripped out and used to record an account of a trip to the Lake District. It is only fair that I share this with you and so settle back as I present to you the events of 4th March 1997
.4.3.97
Today is the day that me, Jeni, Paul and Peter are going on a fantastic day out to the Lake District. I got up incredibly early today, about ten past eight. That's a.m, not p.m! The day started out with a bang when me and Jeni decided to toast the water bill. It was for the very high amount of £283.00 and it was depressing the shit out of us. Now, thank God,we won't have to pay it.
There is a funny smell in the flat at the moment. I can't be exactly sure what it is, but at a rough guess I would say it was toasted water bill.
My thoughts about the trip are as follows:
1) I am wondering primarily if we are going to be in a 10 car pile up on the M1. Perhaps our Fiat Uno will be hit side on by a Juggernaut. Maybe we will all be crushed in the wreckage and limbs may be severed. I can envisage being trapped and having to be freed by the fire brigade who will fight against time as I scream the agonising screams of imminent death.
2) If this does not happen I am looking forward to seeing some attractive scenery and loads of mountains. Mountains are a source of energy you know, although not in the same way as complex carbohydrates. You have to sit on them to reap the full benefits. That's what Marc said. And he must know because he used to play in a band.
Now I am going to move on to discuss what Jeni and I dreamt about last night. As you can see, this has particular relevance to the Lake District. I will deal with my dream first. Well, I dreamt that I woke up and my tongue was covered with painful, throbbing,pulsating, weeping mouth ulcers. I also dreamt I was desperately searching for charity shops and I couldn't find any, so I suppose this could technically be described as a nightmare. When I woke up my tongue was not covered with painful, throbbing,pulsating, weeping mouth ulcers.
Jeni had 2 dreams, one was about the scary water bill and the other also had a watery theme. She envisaged the washing machine as having 2 rather large goldfish inside. She claims that the washing machine had been specially designed to wash the fish as well as display them attractively. A Freudian analysis of these dreams would suggest that I, Laura should eat less cheese before bed. Jeni on the other hand has a subconscious involvement with her past when she used to be a fish in a washing machine.
Jeni and I are now in our kitchen waiting for the men to come and free us from this enslavement to drudgery. We are now half an hour late on our trip, as Peter who is driving the Lake District mobile has gone A.W.O.L.
Later: I am writing this in the car, which is a Leguna and not a Fiat Uno as I previously thought. Actually, I don't know why I am mentioning that as I can't tell one type of car from another. This could be a tank and I wouldn't know the difference.
It is now 12.30 and we have just stopped off at motorway services. I bought a giant flump and ate it in the Little Chef. I realised while I was doing this that I had completely lost my bearings. I mean, I knew we were in Britain because we hadn't gone through any sea, but besides this I was lost. I quickly jumped up and asked a Little Chef assistant where we were. He was very obliging and helpful and informed me we were about 6 miles from Lancaster. I thanked him effusively.
The most alarmingly surreal...
Readers, it just stops there and I have no idea why I did not finish the sentence. Luckily for you, I have a top class memory and can recall exactly what alarmingly surreal events unfolded throughout the day. So, 11 years later, I will finish this diary entry.
The most alarmingly surreal thing happened in the service station on the way home. I had spotted a children's Postman Pat ride and became determined that I would have a go on it. I put in my 20p and tried to squash my adult body into the miniscule drivers seat as the vehicle rocked back and forth. I was thwarted in my attempts and so I knelt on all fours and inserted my head into the post van. Meanwhile, Jeni attempted to capture the whole escapade on camera.As we were engaged in this pursuit, we heard raucous laughter coming from the cafe area. I looked over and was startled to see Russell Grant, of horoscopes fame enjoying the spectacle in front of him. He got up and walked over to me.
'Thanks for making my stop at this service station so entertaining!' he said.'I didn't think it was possible to have fun here'.
'With the right mental attitude, you can have fun anywhere!' I expectorated.
Russell then asked me what star sign I was and seemed surprised when I said Taurus. He expectorated that this sign did not usually engage in mad pursuits.
'I'm Aquarius rising' I expectorated. 'That's what makes me do the mad stuff.'
He seemed impressed at my knowledge of the astrological charts and as a parting shot, I asked him to give me a mention on his next television show. Whether he did or not, I do not know.And so endeth the note about the exciting and alarmingly surreal trip to the Lake District, which on reflection, did not contain any mention of the Lake District at all.
.4.3.97
Today is the day that me, Jeni, Paul and Peter are going on a fantastic day out to the Lake District. I got up incredibly early today, about ten past eight. That's a.m, not p.m! The day started out with a bang when me and Jeni decided to toast the water bill. It was for the very high amount of £283.00 and it was depressing the shit out of us. Now, thank God,we won't have to pay it.
There is a funny smell in the flat at the moment. I can't be exactly sure what it is, but at a rough guess I would say it was toasted water bill.
My thoughts about the trip are as follows:
1) I am wondering primarily if we are going to be in a 10 car pile up on the M1. Perhaps our Fiat Uno will be hit side on by a Juggernaut. Maybe we will all be crushed in the wreckage and limbs may be severed. I can envisage being trapped and having to be freed by the fire brigade who will fight against time as I scream the agonising screams of imminent death.
2) If this does not happen I am looking forward to seeing some attractive scenery and loads of mountains. Mountains are a source of energy you know, although not in the same way as complex carbohydrates. You have to sit on them to reap the full benefits. That's what Marc said. And he must know because he used to play in a band.
Now I am going to move on to discuss what Jeni and I dreamt about last night. As you can see, this has particular relevance to the Lake District. I will deal with my dream first. Well, I dreamt that I woke up and my tongue was covered with painful, throbbing,pulsating, weeping mouth ulcers. I also dreamt I was desperately searching for charity shops and I couldn't find any, so I suppose this could technically be described as a nightmare. When I woke up my tongue was not covered with painful, throbbing,pulsating, weeping mouth ulcers.
Jeni had 2 dreams, one was about the scary water bill and the other also had a watery theme. She envisaged the washing machine as having 2 rather large goldfish inside. She claims that the washing machine had been specially designed to wash the fish as well as display them attractively. A Freudian analysis of these dreams would suggest that I, Laura should eat less cheese before bed. Jeni on the other hand has a subconscious involvement with her past when she used to be a fish in a washing machine.
Jeni and I are now in our kitchen waiting for the men to come and free us from this enslavement to drudgery. We are now half an hour late on our trip, as Peter who is driving the Lake District mobile has gone A.W.O.L.
Later: I am writing this in the car, which is a Leguna and not a Fiat Uno as I previously thought. Actually, I don't know why I am mentioning that as I can't tell one type of car from another. This could be a tank and I wouldn't know the difference.
It is now 12.30 and we have just stopped off at motorway services. I bought a giant flump and ate it in the Little Chef. I realised while I was doing this that I had completely lost my bearings. I mean, I knew we were in Britain because we hadn't gone through any sea, but besides this I was lost. I quickly jumped up and asked a Little Chef assistant where we were. He was very obliging and helpful and informed me we were about 6 miles from Lancaster. I thanked him effusively.
The most alarmingly surreal...
Readers, it just stops there and I have no idea why I did not finish the sentence. Luckily for you, I have a top class memory and can recall exactly what alarmingly surreal events unfolded throughout the day. So, 11 years later, I will finish this diary entry.
The most alarmingly surreal thing happened in the service station on the way home. I had spotted a children's Postman Pat ride and became determined that I would have a go on it. I put in my 20p and tried to squash my adult body into the miniscule drivers seat as the vehicle rocked back and forth. I was thwarted in my attempts and so I knelt on all fours and inserted my head into the post van. Meanwhile, Jeni attempted to capture the whole escapade on camera.As we were engaged in this pursuit, we heard raucous laughter coming from the cafe area. I looked over and was startled to see Russell Grant, of horoscopes fame enjoying the spectacle in front of him. He got up and walked over to me.
'Thanks for making my stop at this service station so entertaining!' he said.'I didn't think it was possible to have fun here'.
'With the right mental attitude, you can have fun anywhere!' I expectorated.
Russell then asked me what star sign I was and seemed surprised when I said Taurus. He expectorated that this sign did not usually engage in mad pursuits.
'I'm Aquarius rising' I expectorated. 'That's what makes me do the mad stuff.'
He seemed impressed at my knowledge of the astrological charts and as a parting shot, I asked him to give me a mention on his next television show. Whether he did or not, I do not know.And so endeth the note about the exciting and alarmingly surreal trip to the Lake District, which on reflection, did not contain any mention of the Lake District at all.
Laura and the discussion that beauty is a talent
Apparently, someone on the Pussycat Dolls reality show declared recently that beauty is a talent. I thought this was an interesting topic worthy of discussion.
In many ways I agree with this statement and can back this up using myself and Britney Spears as case studies.To start with Britney; it is obvious even to the untrained eye that she is a stunning specimen of womanhood. When she is all glammed up for a concert, premiere or fashion shoot she is gorgeousness personified. I cannot think of a single one of her music videos where she looks anything less that super hot and foxy ( except for maybe 'Gimme More', but then she was going through a difficult time personally and had lost custody of her sons )But take away the make up,on set stylist and hairdresser and what you end up with is nothing more than spotty, scruffy trailer trash. Left to her own devices, Britney is unable to manage her appearance and can easily pass for a cheap hooker. This shows that even if you are born beautiful, it requires some degree of talent to manage this beauty and maintain a flawless appearance to the outside world. In fact, I would argue that Britney seems to have a knack for accentuating all her worst attributes, such as her protruding ears, spotty skin and slightly chunky thighs.
Now take your average person on the street, such as myself. Without make-up,hair dye and styling I look dog rough and could not score more than 2 on the foxometer. However, over the years I have become exceptionally talented at managing the looks God gave me. With only a mere one and a half hours preparation per day and several hundred pounds worth of beauty products a year, I can boost my appearance score to about 7 on the foxometer. With this preparation and minimal costings, I have created beauty out of thin air, which I am sure you will agree is a remarkable talent.It also requires great talent to maintain this artificial beauty and create the illusion that I look like this all the time,even when rising from my pit in the morning.
For your comfort and enjoyment, I will now share my talents with you:
Avoid the sun, it ages the complexion and melts make up into an unattractive mush.
If you have guests staying over, get up one and a half hours before them, so you can get your beauty routine done and be sat looking gorgeous and foxy when they emerge from bed.
Spend a few days or weeks thinking of new outfit combinations. Add witty accessories at every turn to show your imaginative and quirky side.
Never follow fashion, this is for losers. Create your own and make sure your clothes never reveal any undesirable parts of your body.
Never show your cleavage or any leg above the knee. It is important to keep people guessing.
Always smile, laugh and appear interested in others even when you are not the slightest bit bothered with what they are saying. This makes you seem more attractive than you really are.
Have a photo of yourself as your computers desktop background. If you think you are the best thing since sliced bread, then others will too.
Always squeeze spots. The manufacturers instructions state you are not meant to, but beauty does not involve infected lumps of pus on the face.
Always eat delicately, even if you are ravenously hungry. Beautiful women do not scoff their food. Pick small chunks off sandwiches and cakes and place them in the mouth, rather than attacking ones grub. The modern woman does not put her face into food.
Finally never let anyone see or pick up your dirty washing. Beauty is mainly an illusion and so to the outside world, you never have dirty undercrackers.
Squirt yourself liberally with a beautiful and unusual fragrance. Never follow the herd and wear Clinique Aromatics Elixir or any fragrance that has a 2 bit celebrities name behind it such as Mariah Carey.
I hope this helps all of you who wish to become talented in the art of beauty. Just try my tips and watch yourself go from moose to magnificent in just a few easy steps.
In many ways I agree with this statement and can back this up using myself and Britney Spears as case studies.To start with Britney; it is obvious even to the untrained eye that she is a stunning specimen of womanhood. When she is all glammed up for a concert, premiere or fashion shoot she is gorgeousness personified. I cannot think of a single one of her music videos where she looks anything less that super hot and foxy ( except for maybe 'Gimme More', but then she was going through a difficult time personally and had lost custody of her sons )But take away the make up,on set stylist and hairdresser and what you end up with is nothing more than spotty, scruffy trailer trash. Left to her own devices, Britney is unable to manage her appearance and can easily pass for a cheap hooker. This shows that even if you are born beautiful, it requires some degree of talent to manage this beauty and maintain a flawless appearance to the outside world. In fact, I would argue that Britney seems to have a knack for accentuating all her worst attributes, such as her protruding ears, spotty skin and slightly chunky thighs.
Now take your average person on the street, such as myself. Without make-up,hair dye and styling I look dog rough and could not score more than 2 on the foxometer. However, over the years I have become exceptionally talented at managing the looks God gave me. With only a mere one and a half hours preparation per day and several hundred pounds worth of beauty products a year, I can boost my appearance score to about 7 on the foxometer. With this preparation and minimal costings, I have created beauty out of thin air, which I am sure you will agree is a remarkable talent.It also requires great talent to maintain this artificial beauty and create the illusion that I look like this all the time,even when rising from my pit in the morning.
For your comfort and enjoyment, I will now share my talents with you:
Avoid the sun, it ages the complexion and melts make up into an unattractive mush.
If you have guests staying over, get up one and a half hours before them, so you can get your beauty routine done and be sat looking gorgeous and foxy when they emerge from bed.
Spend a few days or weeks thinking of new outfit combinations. Add witty accessories at every turn to show your imaginative and quirky side.
Never follow fashion, this is for losers. Create your own and make sure your clothes never reveal any undesirable parts of your body.
Never show your cleavage or any leg above the knee. It is important to keep people guessing.
Always smile, laugh and appear interested in others even when you are not the slightest bit bothered with what they are saying. This makes you seem more attractive than you really are.
Have a photo of yourself as your computers desktop background. If you think you are the best thing since sliced bread, then others will too.
Always squeeze spots. The manufacturers instructions state you are not meant to, but beauty does not involve infected lumps of pus on the face.
Always eat delicately, even if you are ravenously hungry. Beautiful women do not scoff their food. Pick small chunks off sandwiches and cakes and place them in the mouth, rather than attacking ones grub. The modern woman does not put her face into food.
Finally never let anyone see or pick up your dirty washing. Beauty is mainly an illusion and so to the outside world, you never have dirty undercrackers.
Squirt yourself liberally with a beautiful and unusual fragrance. Never follow the herd and wear Clinique Aromatics Elixir or any fragrance that has a 2 bit celebrities name behind it such as Mariah Carey.
I hope this helps all of you who wish to become talented in the art of beauty. Just try my tips and watch yourself go from moose to magnificent in just a few easy steps.
Laura and the rumble in the jumble
Yesterday I met Sarah and we went to a jumble sale at St.Luke's church hall in Waterloo. It was called 'Rumble in the Jumble', which is perhaps the most witty title I have heard all year.It cost 30p to get in, which shows that even jumble sales are subject to the pressures of inflation. Luckily, I managed to phone Zurich and move some money around so I was able to afford this extortionate entrance fee.
After a quick rumble in the jumble, I happened across a pair of flowery pyjama bottoms with heavily blood stained gussets. I couldn't help but let out an involuntary snort of laughter. I drew Sarah's attention to the aforementioned soiled nightwear item and she nearly burst her spleen laughing. By now, the woman behind the counter had noticed our mirth and was looking at us and laughing, in an attempt to join in the joke. However, she had not seen the blood splattered garment and so was chuckling with a confused innocence which was almost as amusing as the pyjamas.We made a swift exit from the jumble sale shortly afterwards. I considered asking for a refund but then decided I would have actually paid 50p to experience the horror of the pyjamas, so I didn't bother
.After a delicious lunch in the Mocha Lounge, we caught a number 10 bus up to London Rd. I browsed around TJ Hughes, while Sarah nipped to Abakhan for some exciting fabric. We then headed down to Central Library as Sarah needed to renew books and I needed a sit down and drink.
While we were having sit downs and drinks, we decided to execute an old and favourite tradition of ours, which is to empty each others handbags onto the table and have a good rummage through the contents. We laughed at each others work ID badge photographs and then marvelled at the fact we both had the same lip balm. Sarah became ecstatic when she discovered a satsuma in her bag that she thought was lost for all eternity.We then made some preliminary plans for when our American penpal, Tracie comes to visit in August. We decided we would 'firm up' the plans closer to the time.
I needed the Ladies bathroom after this as I had a rumble in the jumble that would not go away. I thought I could bake it till later but I couldn't ignore the spasms in the end so I let rip in the Ladies.Unfortunately, I blocked up the latrine facility with the exuberance of my output, so we made a swift getaway. If anyone is going in there and wants to avoid the scene of the crime, it was the 3rd toilet along.
I then headed homewards as I need to prepare my abode for the arrival of my Mum and Dave. I remembered that they chain drink tea, so I stopped off at the Spar for some bags of leaf based hot beverage. They were staying for a full one night, so I figured that 160 tea bags should cover it. As luck would have it, there was a special offer on and half the bags were as free as the wind. This was grand,as I resent paying cash money for these bags of pure evil.
After a quick rumble in the jumble, I happened across a pair of flowery pyjama bottoms with heavily blood stained gussets. I couldn't help but let out an involuntary snort of laughter. I drew Sarah's attention to the aforementioned soiled nightwear item and she nearly burst her spleen laughing. By now, the woman behind the counter had noticed our mirth and was looking at us and laughing, in an attempt to join in the joke. However, she had not seen the blood splattered garment and so was chuckling with a confused innocence which was almost as amusing as the pyjamas.We made a swift exit from the jumble sale shortly afterwards. I considered asking for a refund but then decided I would have actually paid 50p to experience the horror of the pyjamas, so I didn't bother
.After a delicious lunch in the Mocha Lounge, we caught a number 10 bus up to London Rd. I browsed around TJ Hughes, while Sarah nipped to Abakhan for some exciting fabric. We then headed down to Central Library as Sarah needed to renew books and I needed a sit down and drink.
While we were having sit downs and drinks, we decided to execute an old and favourite tradition of ours, which is to empty each others handbags onto the table and have a good rummage through the contents. We laughed at each others work ID badge photographs and then marvelled at the fact we both had the same lip balm. Sarah became ecstatic when she discovered a satsuma in her bag that she thought was lost for all eternity.We then made some preliminary plans for when our American penpal, Tracie comes to visit in August. We decided we would 'firm up' the plans closer to the time.
I needed the Ladies bathroom after this as I had a rumble in the jumble that would not go away. I thought I could bake it till later but I couldn't ignore the spasms in the end so I let rip in the Ladies.Unfortunately, I blocked up the latrine facility with the exuberance of my output, so we made a swift getaway. If anyone is going in there and wants to avoid the scene of the crime, it was the 3rd toilet along.
I then headed homewards as I need to prepare my abode for the arrival of my Mum and Dave. I remembered that they chain drink tea, so I stopped off at the Spar for some bags of leaf based hot beverage. They were staying for a full one night, so I figured that 160 tea bags should cover it. As luck would have it, there was a special offer on and half the bags were as free as the wind. This was grand,as I resent paying cash money for these bags of pure evil.
Laura and the argument that tea and coffee are EVIL!!
There has been much debate in my office recently about what kind of topic I should discuss in my next blog. Somebody actually had the audacity to suggest I write one saying diet coke was bad! I know, it's unbelievable isn't it? This could never happen, but there are plenty of drinks that are horrible, so I will start with tea and coffee.
As far as I am concerned they are both as bad as each other. They are a nasty brown colour, they stink and they are hot. I hate brown,stinky hot things and I cannot understand why people would want to introduce such a substance into their mouths.
To me, they look like a cup of hot mud and the fumes induce a near vomiting reaction. I do not understand why people need to drink these beverages constantly. There is no way you could be that thirsty that you have to have one every few hours, even in summer when it is too hot for a hot drink.The worst thing about tea and coffee is the mug. People often tend to use the same mug over and over without washing it properly, just giving it a quick rinse in between liquid mud fixes. This means that unattractive brown 'rings' build up in the mug which are impossible to scrub off.Then there is the problem of going out with someone who is an avid fan of tea and coffee. No matter how much you adore someone, it is ghastly to lean towards their face for a smooch and get a whiff of vile tea breath.I have never liked tea and coffee and according to my mum, I was given tea in my bottle as a youngster and spat it out. It was heartwarming to know I was always assured of my own mind, even as a nipper.
I was asked in my office what I did when I needed a hot drink. The answer is, I never need a hot drink. Drinks should be cold, according to manufacturers instructions. It seems I am something of a living controversy with my aversion to the heated beverage, so for all you readers who are thinking along the same lines, I can tell you that I also hate bovril,hot chocolate and herbal tea. There is never any need for a hot drink.The only exception is Lemsip, which I will indulge in at times of sickness. However, I regard this as a medicine rather than a hot drink.
To quote my dear friend Stella, the teabags in work taste like 'piss'. I would argue that they all taste like piss and sometimes like shit.
If everyone gave up tea and coffee, the world economy would right itself in an instant. We could save millions in this country if we did not buy teabags,coffee,kettles,teaspoons and mugs. We could use this money on other badly needed resources such as diet coke on the NHS, free Heat magazines to people earning less than £18,000 per annum and 'Blogger of the Year' parties.Lost working hours spent making hot beverages could be reclaimed and people could go home an hour earlier.They did not have tea and coffee in caveman times, so why have we got them now? Prehistoric man survived pretty well on water,Um Bongo jungle juice and diet coke, so I propose we go back to basics and rid our society of these terrible drinks, which in my opinion are the work of the devil.
As far as I am concerned they are both as bad as each other. They are a nasty brown colour, they stink and they are hot. I hate brown,stinky hot things and I cannot understand why people would want to introduce such a substance into their mouths.
To me, they look like a cup of hot mud and the fumes induce a near vomiting reaction. I do not understand why people need to drink these beverages constantly. There is no way you could be that thirsty that you have to have one every few hours, even in summer when it is too hot for a hot drink.The worst thing about tea and coffee is the mug. People often tend to use the same mug over and over without washing it properly, just giving it a quick rinse in between liquid mud fixes. This means that unattractive brown 'rings' build up in the mug which are impossible to scrub off.Then there is the problem of going out with someone who is an avid fan of tea and coffee. No matter how much you adore someone, it is ghastly to lean towards their face for a smooch and get a whiff of vile tea breath.I have never liked tea and coffee and according to my mum, I was given tea in my bottle as a youngster and spat it out. It was heartwarming to know I was always assured of my own mind, even as a nipper.
I was asked in my office what I did when I needed a hot drink. The answer is, I never need a hot drink. Drinks should be cold, according to manufacturers instructions. It seems I am something of a living controversy with my aversion to the heated beverage, so for all you readers who are thinking along the same lines, I can tell you that I also hate bovril,hot chocolate and herbal tea. There is never any need for a hot drink.The only exception is Lemsip, which I will indulge in at times of sickness. However, I regard this as a medicine rather than a hot drink.
To quote my dear friend Stella, the teabags in work taste like 'piss'. I would argue that they all taste like piss and sometimes like shit.
If everyone gave up tea and coffee, the world economy would right itself in an instant. We could save millions in this country if we did not buy teabags,coffee,kettles,teaspoons and mugs. We could use this money on other badly needed resources such as diet coke on the NHS, free Heat magazines to people earning less than £18,000 per annum and 'Blogger of the Year' parties.Lost working hours spent making hot beverages could be reclaimed and people could go home an hour earlier.They did not have tea and coffee in caveman times, so why have we got them now? Prehistoric man survived pretty well on water,Um Bongo jungle juice and diet coke, so I propose we go back to basics and rid our society of these terrible drinks, which in my opinion are the work of the devil.
Laura and the proof that God exists
After pondering philosophical matters in my last blog, I am inspired to continue with serious themes. The question of whether God exists has always been a hotly debated topic and I have now collated enough evidence to prove without a shadow of a doubt that he is real.
God has always expectorated that he does not need to give us proof of his existence. In fact, he said to ask for it is demonstrates a lack of faith, which then nullifies his existence. But he must have had a change of heart when I was born, as I have been blessed with many undisputed examples that he is alive, well and moving amongst us. He must have taken a shine to me and who can blame him, or perhaps he has read my blogs.
At first glance it would seem illogical to believe in something you cannot see, hear,touch, smell or taste. But the same could be said for electricity, which can most definitely be experienced by all the senses when you stick a wet finger into a plug socket. It is the same with God. You only have to stick a wet finger in the prayer socket and a jolt of proof will course through your distended veins.
For instance, I prayed recently that Big Brother would not be taken off our screens, even though there were constant examples of bullying and aggressive behaviour displayed by the contestants. It was a desperate prayer, as I knew that the show had been dogged with bad publicity since the Jade Goody racism incident and was floundering under the weight of unnaceptable viewing guidelines. God heard my prayer as I turned on my google box to find Big Brother still on. I do not agree with racism and bullying but the rest of BB is addictive in the extreme and is like Pringles, in that once you start, you can't stop.
I also prayed last night that my spot would not develop any more pus in the night and my plea was answered. It had a large red scab, but the skin was definitely healing and I could apply make up to the blemish without the risk of a nasty yellow head coming back.
Once I realised that having prayers answered was as easy as ordering groceries online, I knew I must not be selfish. I prayed for others too, so that they could share in my good fortune. I asked God for a world miracle and in response he gave us Max Factor 'Miracle Touch' foundation,which has ended the misery of an uneven complexion. Indeed it is a truly miraculous product that goes on like a dream and does not require a top coat of powder.
I also said a prayer for Britney Spears. It went something like this:'Dear God, my bezzie mate. Please give Britney the strength not to commit suicide. I know she has been through a rough time and struggles to manage her commitments of singing,motherhood and looking foxy, but suicide cannot be in her plans. Help her get back on top of her game and produce more brilliant,catchy throwaway pop songs'.
This prayer worked like a charm and within a couple of months she was back on my telly box cavorting about and singing the hit tune 'Piece of me'. So all you disbelievers out there, eat your words. Just have a go at some praying tonight and provided your wishes are not too outlandish, you may well get a pleasant surprise.
God has always expectorated that he does not need to give us proof of his existence. In fact, he said to ask for it is demonstrates a lack of faith, which then nullifies his existence. But he must have had a change of heart when I was born, as I have been blessed with many undisputed examples that he is alive, well and moving amongst us. He must have taken a shine to me and who can blame him, or perhaps he has read my blogs.
At first glance it would seem illogical to believe in something you cannot see, hear,touch, smell or taste. But the same could be said for electricity, which can most definitely be experienced by all the senses when you stick a wet finger into a plug socket. It is the same with God. You only have to stick a wet finger in the prayer socket and a jolt of proof will course through your distended veins.
For instance, I prayed recently that Big Brother would not be taken off our screens, even though there were constant examples of bullying and aggressive behaviour displayed by the contestants. It was a desperate prayer, as I knew that the show had been dogged with bad publicity since the Jade Goody racism incident and was floundering under the weight of unnaceptable viewing guidelines. God heard my prayer as I turned on my google box to find Big Brother still on. I do not agree with racism and bullying but the rest of BB is addictive in the extreme and is like Pringles, in that once you start, you can't stop.
I also prayed last night that my spot would not develop any more pus in the night and my plea was answered. It had a large red scab, but the skin was definitely healing and I could apply make up to the blemish without the risk of a nasty yellow head coming back.
Once I realised that having prayers answered was as easy as ordering groceries online, I knew I must not be selfish. I prayed for others too, so that they could share in my good fortune. I asked God for a world miracle and in response he gave us Max Factor 'Miracle Touch' foundation,which has ended the misery of an uneven complexion. Indeed it is a truly miraculous product that goes on like a dream and does not require a top coat of powder.
I also said a prayer for Britney Spears. It went something like this:'Dear God, my bezzie mate. Please give Britney the strength not to commit suicide. I know she has been through a rough time and struggles to manage her commitments of singing,motherhood and looking foxy, but suicide cannot be in her plans. Help her get back on top of her game and produce more brilliant,catchy throwaway pop songs'.
This prayer worked like a charm and within a couple of months she was back on my telly box cavorting about and singing the hit tune 'Piece of me'. So all you disbelievers out there, eat your words. Just have a go at some praying tonight and provided your wishes are not too outlandish, you may well get a pleasant surprise.
Laura and the meaning of life
I have decided to get philosophical in my blogs. It is time to discuss the really important questions in life and there seems to be nothing more important than the meaning of life.
Mankind has debated this question for centuries and yet no conclusive answer has been reached.Douglas Adams argued that it was 42 or a cup of tea with an electrode or something, but I do not agree. Cups of tea are certainly not the meaning of my life, as I believe them to be a vile and disgusting beverage which should be outlawed along with hanging and the death penalty.
A quick poll around my office revealed several answers to the meaning of life question. Answers ranged from:
'To breed and pass on our genes'
'To be happy'
'To be the best version of yourself every day'
.My own personal meaning of life is this:
'Live to your full potential and if you have any talents such as writing blogs then hammer this until people are sick of the sight of you and are ready to commit suicide from being constantly pestered to read the blogs and comment on them and think of topics for new ones. Drink diet coke aplenty as it feeds the soul and infiltrates the bone marrow with juicy creative goodness which helps the blog writing process .Don't waste your life on work when it is so easy to log onto Facebook and spread blogging joy around the globe from your desk, or 'workstation' as they say here. Always question authority and never follow rules until you are about to get arrested or fired and then just before that happens, smile sweetly and tell a funny joke and promise never to do it again. Always take a moment to brighten people's day with humour, even when it is totally inappropriate, such as when bad news is announced or when getting told off. It totally diffuses the situation and before long everyone is in a better mood. Be fashionable at all costs, it costs nothing, especially if you mix and match Primark separates; the world does not want to look at your unco-ordinated and unstylish form tramping around the streets.Give cheek wherever possible and do not discriminate upon the recipient. It builds confidence and the more you do it,the more shocked people will be and the shock often means you can get away with stuff in the interim period while the shock sinks in.Indulge yourself with the finest foodstuffs and bags of pick 'n' mix, there is plenty of time to worry about being thin when you are dead. Read lots of books ,as they inspire and shape ones existence. I do not think I would be the person I am today without Adrian Mole. Keep all your shopping lists as they make a fascinating addition to a penfriends letter. Highlight any 'multisave' offers you may have made, as these can often be overlooked.'
There are probably more meanings to my life, but this gives you a brief flavour.In terms of summing up the collective meaning of our lives, I must step back for now and gain more research. Please come forward and let me know your own personal meaning of life and I will put together a compilation statement in a later blog.
Mankind has debated this question for centuries and yet no conclusive answer has been reached.Douglas Adams argued that it was 42 or a cup of tea with an electrode or something, but I do not agree. Cups of tea are certainly not the meaning of my life, as I believe them to be a vile and disgusting beverage which should be outlawed along with hanging and the death penalty.
A quick poll around my office revealed several answers to the meaning of life question. Answers ranged from:
'To breed and pass on our genes'
'To be happy'
'To be the best version of yourself every day'
.My own personal meaning of life is this:
'Live to your full potential and if you have any talents such as writing blogs then hammer this until people are sick of the sight of you and are ready to commit suicide from being constantly pestered to read the blogs and comment on them and think of topics for new ones. Drink diet coke aplenty as it feeds the soul and infiltrates the bone marrow with juicy creative goodness which helps the blog writing process .Don't waste your life on work when it is so easy to log onto Facebook and spread blogging joy around the globe from your desk, or 'workstation' as they say here. Always question authority and never follow rules until you are about to get arrested or fired and then just before that happens, smile sweetly and tell a funny joke and promise never to do it again. Always take a moment to brighten people's day with humour, even when it is totally inappropriate, such as when bad news is announced or when getting told off. It totally diffuses the situation and before long everyone is in a better mood. Be fashionable at all costs, it costs nothing, especially if you mix and match Primark separates; the world does not want to look at your unco-ordinated and unstylish form tramping around the streets.Give cheek wherever possible and do not discriminate upon the recipient. It builds confidence and the more you do it,the more shocked people will be and the shock often means you can get away with stuff in the interim period while the shock sinks in.Indulge yourself with the finest foodstuffs and bags of pick 'n' mix, there is plenty of time to worry about being thin when you are dead. Read lots of books ,as they inspire and shape ones existence. I do not think I would be the person I am today without Adrian Mole. Keep all your shopping lists as they make a fascinating addition to a penfriends letter. Highlight any 'multisave' offers you may have made, as these can often be overlooked.'
There are probably more meanings to my life, but this gives you a brief flavour.In terms of summing up the collective meaning of our lives, I must step back for now and gain more research. Please come forward and let me know your own personal meaning of life and I will put together a compilation statement in a later blog.
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